Sing no Sad Songs for Me
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: A significant day and the loss of a treasured item leave Ruth feeling upset. Will anyone be able to make her smile again? Set between 4.6 and 4.7.


**Disclaimer – Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC **

**This is set somewhere between 4.6 and 4.7.**

**Thanks to the Peas ;)**

* * *

Ruth settles herself onto the bus, choosing her favourite window seat on the top deck. Attempting to concentrate on her book she tries to push the significance of the date out of her mind: _19__th__ July_. It's circled on the Cats Protection League calendar hanging in her kitchen. Not as a reminder – she doesn't need one – but as a small way of marking the day, even if it's only seen by her.

Her thoughts turn towards her colleagues; she doubts any of them will appreciate the relevance of the date. The suffocating heat that is gripping London appears to be taking its toll on everyone and tempers are short. The previous day, Harry had returned from a meeting to be greeted by the sight of Colin and Zaf arguing over who had drunk the last of the coffee. He'd been scathing and merciless when he delivered his opinion of their behaviour.

The rest of the afternoon had passed in a tense silence, interrupted only by Harry engaging in a loud argument with a member of Internal Services. The unfortunate man had been sent to explain that a maintenance team would be taking possession of the Grid at 8.00 pm and all systems would be shut down. Following that incident, the admin staff had found pressing tasks off the Grid and Ruth had been left to take him a pile of reports. She had grown increasingly impatient with him as he launched into an invective-laden analysis of the perceived failings of Internal Services.

"_The poor man was just trying to do his job, Harry."_

"_No he wasn't; he was being a tedious little shite."_

"_Well maybe he's sick of all the prima donnas he has to deal with!" _

With that, she had dropped the reports forcefully onto his desk, turned and walked out. Sitting at her work station, her hands shaking, she'd fully expected him to come out of his office and give her a dressing down but he didn't. She'd tried to busy herself with various tasks but couldn't concentrate so she waited until Harry was on the phone and made her escape.

The bus lurches to a halt for the third time in two hundred yards and the young man sitting next to her sniffs, noisily, interrupting her thought process. They are just over a mile from Thames House so she decides to walk the rest of the way. Stuffing her book into her bag she quickly stands up, mutters 'Excuse me' and hurries down the stairs. Her feet touch the pavement just as the bus doors start to close

Her route takes her along by the river and it seems a bit cooler here. She stops for a while to watch some barges drift slowly downstream. She likes the river and briefly considers calling in sick and spending the day on one of the pleasure boats that ply their trade along the Thames. Dismissing the idea as madness she trudges onwards, feeling increasingly gloomy as she gets closer to the Grid.

--

The pod doors open to reveal the Grid in disarray. Malcolm and Colin are straightening desks and rearranging computer equipment.

"Did the maintenance team leave this mess?" Ruth asks.

"Yes." Colin stops for a moment while he sorts out various cables. "The good news is they've sorted out the power problem affecting the air conditioning-"

"The bad news is they moved a lot of things round and disconnected half the IT," Malcolm cuts in, his voice strained as he tries not to go into a full scale rant about the state the Grid has been left in.

"Apparently, it's not their job to put it all back despite the fact they moved it." Colin reappears from behind Zaf's desk and brushes dust from his jeans. "They can't even be bothered to clean up after themselves," he adds.

"Is there anything I can do?" Ruth enquires although she's not sure there is.

"Your computer's reconnected so if you can log on and check everything's working correctly, that would be very helpful," Malcolm replies.

Once she has successfully accessed the IT systems, Ruth turns her attentions to her workspace. The items that were on her desk are in a cardboard box with 'Desk 3' scrawled on it in black ink. She starts to sort through them, methodically putting them back in their rightful place.

"Something wrong?" Malcolm asks, his attention drawn to Ruth as she flicks through the pages of a battered thesaurus.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm just looking for…" She stops and looks into the empty cardboard box, half-hoping she can will the missing object to appear.

"What have you lost?" the technician asks, softly, sensing his colleague's distress.

"I, er, I had a photo. It was propped up against my books…those bloody maintenance men."

"It'll turn-"

"They've lost it, Malcolm! It was the only one-" Ruth stops and takes a deep breath, suddenly aware how hysterical she must sound.

"Leave it with me." The quiet words are accompanied by a reassuring squeeze of her hand.

--

As the day progresses, there's little time to dwell on the missing picture. An urgent request from Special Branch takes up most of Ruth's time. Harry is backwards and forwards to meetings and their paths barely cross, which is something of a relief to her.

Just after four o'clock, Fiona returns to the Grid. She pauses by Ruth's desk and slips one of her shoes off. "Ugh! Wretched weather."

Ruth looks up and notices the younger woman's jacket is quite damp. "When did it start raining?"

"About half an hour ago, just as I left the French Embassy." The other shoe is discarded. "I got fifty yards down the road and there was this huge rumble of thunder and the heavens opened."

"I had no idea," Ruth says, quietly.

"Well, we're cocooned in here, aren't we?" Fiona responds, carefully studying her colleague. "Is everything all right, Ruth? I thought earlier you looked a bit-"

"I'm fine, really." The reply is quick; too quick.

Fiona considers questioning her further but decides against it. "I'm going to get changed. I won't be long."

--

The next time Ruth looks at watch, it's nearly six o'clock. She peers across the Grid into Harry's office, which is still empty. There is a moment of indecision then she begins to tidy away the files on her desk. Her mind is made up; she will leave early for once.

Malcolm is getting out of the lift as she gets in and she almost walks into him. "S-sorry," she stammers.

"No harm done." He smiles. "Having an early night?"

"Something like that." She hesitates, half in and half out of the lift. "Thought I'd go for a walk before I went home, well, if it's stopped raining."

"It has." He waves as the lift doors start to close. "Enjoy your evening."

A few minutes later, the pods open and Harry steps on to the Grid. His gaze is automatically drawn to the empty desk that faces his office.

"Where's Ruth?"

Malcolm looks up. "She's already left for the evening." He pauses. "I don't think she's feeling too well."

"Oh." Harry shifts from one foot to the other. "When did she leave?"

"About ten minutes ago." The technician wonders whether he should say any more. "She mentioned something about going for a walk before she went home."

"I see." Harry looks at his watch; it takes him just a few seconds to decide what he's going to do. "I'm going out for a while, Malcolm."

"OK. Harry?"

The section head stops, mid-stride, and looks back at his colleague, who is holding up a small, padded envelope.

"Can you give her this?"

--

The afternoon's thunderstorms have finally broken the heat wave and the air feels fresher. A gentle breeze blows in from the river and it's a welcome change from the last few days. Harry stops on Lambeth Bridge to remove his tie and consider what he's going to say to Ruth if he catches up with her. He starts walking again and turns left onto the Embankment.

He spots her some distance ahead sitting on one of the benches - the bench they all sit on. Perhaps, one day, he thinks, it'll end up with a blue plaque on it, commemorating its use by MI5. He slows his pace and continues to observe her from a distance. He shouldn't be spying on her – it really isn't fair. He could try to convince himself that he's concerned only for her welfare but he knows it's far more complex than that.

Suddenly, Ruth turns her head and her eyes meet his. He stops, unsure of his next move. She looks at him for a moment longer and then turns away. No smile, not even a proper acknowledgement. Harry is left feeling very uncertain. He could continue towards her and risk incurring her wrath if she wants to be left alone; or he could retreat and head home. The second option feels like cowardice – not something that he's usually prone to but, where his feelings for Ruth are concerned, he's more than capable of such an act.

He remains where he is for a minute or so, watching her; she's twisting her ring round and round her finger. It's a nervous habit she indulges in occasionally but the last time he'd seen her turning the piece of jewellery this relentlessly had been on the way to Danny's funeral. It's a journey imprinted on his memory. She hadn't argued with him when he'd suggested, no _told_ her that she was travelling with him in his car. She'd said little during the drive, spending most of the time looking out of the window and fiddling with her ring. He had wanted to take her hands in his, partly to stop the movement, partly to offer some sort of comfort. He tried to convince himself that it wasn't because he was feeling guilty.

He's been experiencing a lot of guilt recently, about Zoë and Danny, but the biggest source of his guilt is Ruth. She's had a punishing few months. He knows she's lonely – she admitted that to him following the John Fortescue business. Then she had almost died at the hands of Andrew Forrestal. It had been Danny who had saved her and then, a few weeks later, he was dead. Even as she had stood with his body, Harry had not been able to comfort her – not in the way she needed. Instead, he had delivered her into the care of strangers; a policewoman who had gently escorted her away from the stretcher, and his new driver who had guided her to the car and held her as she shook with wracking sobs. Thankfully, she had slept on the drive back to London. He'd watched her as he made and received numerous phone calls, dealing with the fallout from the murder of one of his officers. But he had been totally unable to deal with her sorrow and his feelings for her.

The only person Harry doesn't feel guilty about is Tom. _Forgive those that trespass against us._ He doesn't think the Lord's Prayer extends to forgiving such trespasses as one of his officers turning a shotgun on him. Even if it does, Harry has no compunction about indulging in selective forgiveness. Especially as the only thing he now feels about Tom is a sense of disappointment, made more acute by the occasional dull ache in his shoulder.

Once he's level with Ruth, he stops and leans back against the stone wall, his hands in his pockets.

"I'm finished for the day, Harry."

"I know. I'm wo… I just wanted to see if you were alright. You seemed upset earlier."

"I'm fine."

She clearly isn't. "Well you don't look or sound fine."

"Thanks." Her tone is sarcastic but underlying it is something else.

"I've got something for you." Harry reaches into his jacket pocket and removes the small, padded envelope. He moves closer to her and extends his hand. She looks at the package before hesitantly taking it from him.

"What is it?"

"Open it and see." He sees the brief look of confusion on her face as she pulls the small wooden photo frame out of the envelope. She turns it over to look at it and gasps.

"I thought this…I mean…How did you…?"

"It was Malcolm." Harry can't claim any credit; he's just the delivery boy. "With some help from Colin, who still has the original picture on a CD."

She hasn't said any more and is grasping the sides of the frame tightly, staring intently at the photo it contains. The same image that had been on her desk. She sniffs and wipes away a tear that runs down her cheek.

Harry curses under his breath and sits down beside her. "Ruth," he begins but she cuts him off.

"Hold this." She pushes the picture into his hand and starts to rummage in her bag.

He studies the photograph as she retrieves a tissue, wipes her eyes and blows her nose. He knows why it means so much to her – it's an informal pose of her, Danny, Zoë and Sam taken, Harry thinks, in The George. They were clearly celebrating something but he isn't sure what the specific occasion had been.

She takes the wooden frame back from him and smiles as she looks at the picture again. "Sam's birthday. Danny insisted on a photo with his 'girls'." She laughs softly, caught up in the memory.

He watches her, intently, registering the different emotions that flit over her face, as she explains, unbidden, the where and when behind the image. He feels a sudden stab of uneasiness. She's the only one of the four left. If anything happens to her… He pushes the thought away.

"Do you know what today is, Harry? I mean today's date."

"It's the 19th of July."

"Yes, but do you understand the significance of the date?"

Harry thinks, carefully; something's nagging at the back of his mind. _Shit_.

"Danny's birthday. Christ, I'm sorry Ruth. I'd…"

"Forgotten." She finishes the sentence for him and shrugs. "I'm sure you have more important things to worry about."

"Ruth."

"No, it's OK. I wouldn't expect you to remember everyone else's birthdays."

Her words hang in the air, an oblique acknowledgement of something that is unspoken between them. _Something else._

A gaggle of excited tourists stop near them and begin taking photographs of each other, using the Houses of Parliament as a backdrop.

"Would you like to go for a drink?"

"A drink?"

"Yes; we could raise a glass to Danny, talk about old times…" Harry stops as he tries to read her expression. "Or, if you prefer, we could talk about something else, or not talk at all. I could just buy you a drink and then you could completely ignore me. I won't take offence."

"Tempting offer."

"Which bit?"

"Letting you buy me a drink and then ignoring you." The sparkle is back in her eyes and Harry feels a familiar flutter in his stomach as she looks at him.

"You should take me up on it; it's a rare opportunity after all." He stands up and turns to face her. "What's it to be?"

She places the picture frame back into the envelope and tucks it carefully into her bag before replying. "You can buy me a drink and we can talk about old times."

"Good." He smiles at her. "There is one condition though."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Please don't call me a prima donna again."

"I didn't."

"Well, you implied it."

"No, you _inferred_ it."

They are back to their gentle verbal sparring and Harry feels his mood lift. He loves this aspect of their relationship and the sudden awareness of how much he's missed it comes as something of a shock.

He realises his silence is unnerving her. "Come on then."

As he makes to move off, her hand briefly touches his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Hang on."

Her fingers feel soft against his skin as she straightens the collar of his shirt.

"That's better." She smiles at him and he knows it will soon be time to tell her how much she means to him.

_The End_

* * *

**Thanks for reading :)**


End file.
